Neon Moon
by ChasingRainbows90
Summary: I'm really not sure how to summarise this - but it's sort of inspired by the song Neon Moon and set around late July 2013.
1. Chapter 1

**This is something of a random idea that came to me earlier (although why I decided to write it at 11pm is anyone's guess!). Hopefully this is ok :)**

On the days when the ward was like this, most people couldn't wait for their shifts to end. For the moment when they could slip out of the doors, and try to push the events of the day from their mind. They would go home and pee (because chances are they hadn't had chance), eat (because all they've done is bolted small bites of whatever was to hand), drink (because technically you haven't drunk much either and you've basically just peed everything else out) before you fall in to your bed and try to ignore the fact that you have to get up and do it all again in a matter of hours – unless of course you are one of the lucky ones who has a day off, or even better a run of days off.

Normally she was one of those people. She understood the feelings of it, and yet today when she had realised that the days tasks were completed and she could finally escape the bedlam that was Darwin ward, she found herself hesitating; trying to think of some piece of documentation that needed an addition made or something she hadn't checked quite thoroughly enough. But try as she might, she couldn't come up with anything.

On regular days, you didn't want the ward to be frantic. You wanted it to be much more civilised – you daren't use the Q word – but today she had tempted fate by considering it. She had considered using the word but she had known that in her current state that it wouldn't have worked; that quiet would have equalled quiet because it was the last thing she wanted. On the regular days, stating the word quiet always ended in all hell breaking loose.

But fate had been good to her. Fate had brought her the frantic pace she had desire and refuge from the thoughts that she tried to keep at bay. The place was filled with memories of the day exactly one year ago but she had, had little time to dwell on it. The bells had rung near constantly; some requests bordering on an abuse of the call bell system and others resulting in the frantic pulling of the emergency cord. The emergency bell had sounded far too often today, the noise which caused hearts to leap in chest cavities and feet to run in the direction of the bed. It was a sound that sometimes woke her from her sleep, causing her to bolt upright in her bed before she realised that she was in the comfort of her home.

She slips away from the hospital, pausing for a moment as she considers in which direction to walk. The quiet of her home where sleep should await her or the bustle of a bar, where she can lose herself in a drink or two. She knows she should go home, she is supposed to work tomorrow but she cannot quite face the idea of being alone, of the quiet. Besides today should be a celebration. So she chooses the bar.

* * *

He shivers as he sits outside of the hospital, its July and it should be warm but the night is bitter and he misses the comfort of his grey hoodie. The warmth it would bring him. But it is providing that to someone else, someone who needs it all the more. He thinks of his daughter, sleeping within the walls of the building. The fact that she keeps the hoodie with her, as a sort of comfort blanket though she is too old, and too cool, to admit that now. She claims it is the warmest hoodie and therefore the best but he knows differently. He knows it brings her comfort, a piece of her daddy even when he is not present. He wishes he could be there with her at very moment but it is near impossible, and anyway he knows that sometimes he annoys her with his helicopter parenting.

It has been a long few months and he is weary. He feels like so much of himself is seeping away and every day is becoming more of a struggle; to keep up the pretence that everything is normal for his girl when in reality that is so far removed from the truth.

He thinks now of his boy. His little lad. The child he has not seen properly in weeks because of the actions he had taken, the lies he had told. To save one child, to sacrifice another. That was how she had seen it, or how he thought she had seen it. He understood her fear; to lose her son, their son. But he had faced losing his daughter also. And it was an impossible situation. And now it seemed he had lost the boy, though not in the way she had feared.

She hadn't been cruel. She had gone ahead for the girl, her stepdaughter. The procedures aimed at saving her young life but she had done so privately. His presence for the boy unwanted, though he knew not unneeded. He had been forced, by her, to stay away and in turn she had kept the boy away from him.

He had been grateful for what she had done, despite her reluctance but he knew it had not been done for him. She had done it for the girl who despite it all she had come to be fond of. Perhaps not love, or not love as he knew it but there was something there between them – and it had been enough. He knew that she still went to visit the girl, that they stayed in contact. But it was done when she knew he wouldn't be around, in the hope that he wouldn't know. Their work relationship was cordial, professional but he knew the stares that were being drawn. The rumours afoot as to what had happened, he knew those around them blamed her. They suspected an affair; something for which she had a reputation. And for some reason she had not denied, and he hadn't stood up for her.

He cannot sit here forever and he craves noise. He cannot face the quietness of another night alone in an empty bed, yet he knows he cannot go back in to the hospital. He is in no state for his daughter to see. Instead he pulls himself to his feet, and starts to walk. He moves on autopilot, and finds himself outside of a familiar place where a friendly barman will pour him a drink and for a time, at least, he can try to forget himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Originally this was going to be written in a different order but this felt slightly more natural so hopefully it's ok :) Thank you to anyone reading and for any reviews :) **

She sits at the bar, drink in hand. She considers moving, to slip in to the privacy of a booth but there is something about sitting in such a space alone that puts her off. Instead she watches the people who approach the bar and she tries to guess their drink order, rewarding herself when she gets one correct – and taking a commiseration sip when she doesn't. She watches couples and tries to guess their story; she invents details that she thinks fits and tries to map a future for these strangers. The man and the woman who stand at opposite ends of the bar, she thinks could be destined to have their eyes meet and for sparks to fly between them even if just for a single night.

He walks through the door, and he's struck by the fact that the place is already filled with people. It's popularity seemingly having increased since he was last here. He pushes his way through the throng of people, for once not really apologising; something which is not in his normal nature. He approaches the bar, barely taking in his surroundings.

She seems him before he sees her, and she wonders what has brought him here. She knows that life has been rough for him in recent months; the breakdown of his marriage in the public arena that was Holby hospital and the battle for his daughter's life. She could see now in his face the strain that it was bringing him. He appeared to have aged a great deal in such a short space of time.

He feels the eyes watching him, the burn on his skin and for a moment he finds himself back in the hospital in those first few weeks. The way people had watched him, and the whispered voices that had followed him around. He was certain it was mainly paranoia but still it had gotten to him. He turns and his gaze settles on a familiar face seated at the bar; a friendly face who offers him a smile though he is certain he sees pain in her eyes.

She watches as he moves along the bar until he comes to her side, taking a seat at the free stool to her right. She takes a sip of her drink as she takes him in up close, the effects so much more visible up close and it is momentarily startling.

From his new vantage point, he can see the way her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. The fact it seems so much more forced. To him, she usually appears so bubble and vibrant that this version of her takes him a little by surprise.

"I haven't seen you here before" he speaks finally, the first of the pair to do so and he doesn't even manage a greeting. He tries to think of the last time their paths crossed properly, when they had been able to talk but his mind draws a blank. He knows she hasn't been here though, she has probably been in Albie's – the more common haunt of the Holby staff – with their friends and colleagues. That is why in recent weeks he has been frequenting this bar; he is unknown here, or at least he was. Now people watch him, the man who sits at the bar with his shorn head and weary expression who nurses drinks before he slips away quietly at the end of the night, usually one of the last. Usually he interacts with no-one other than the bar-staff until tonight.

"I couldn't quite face home" she answers after taking a gulp of her drink, looking away from his face as she does so. She isn't sure how she ended up at this bar, it isn't one which she has been in before but the neon sign over the door had beckoned her from the road after she had walked further on than Albie's.

"And you chose here?" he sounds surprised as he looks about the place, which is something of a dive. He has come to feel a sort of affection for the place, though he is certain he wouldn't ever chose to bring another person here. He watches as she considers his question.

"I could say the same of you" she responds, but she thinks for a moment in her slight haze. She thinks of how she had watched him approach the bar and how the staff member had given him a drink without him needing to state an order. It struck her in that moment that unlike her, this was not the first time he had been here, "how come you haven't been joining us at Albie's?" she adds the question when he shows no signs of responding to the first comment. She watches as he takes a drink before he makes a gesture at the barman to give him another drink.

"I'm anonymous here" he answers softly, looking at the nearly empty drink in his hand as he waits for the next to be brought over. She nods her understanding, "at Albie's, people want to talk; or they look at me with pity because they know – or they think they know" he speaks so bitterly now, his tone changing entirely and it is not the familiar friend sitting before her in that moment.

"I'm sorry" she surprises herself with the words and she sees in that moment his expression change further, and she knows those are the wrong words. They are words he has heard spoken so many times, in more ways than he knew existed. To begin with, he had accepted it; the person had no responsibility when it came to his daughter and yet they chose to apology for the situation she was in. But now the apologies had more meaning; they were sorry for the actions they believed had been taken against him as well; the actions that made him the wronged husband as well as the father of the brave little girl.

"Why?" he looks at her now, his eyes harder than she has seen them before, "why are you sorry?" he adds when he sees the flicker of confusion on her face. She blinks a little, she thinks the question is a trick and that any answer she gives will be wrong. With a sigh, she settles on the most honest answer she can give.

"Everything you've been through" she says, her voice soft. He blinks as he processes it. Most people won't dignify their apologies with an explanation and it surprises him that she has. It isn't quite the answer he wants though he knows it is the one that most people would give, if only they felt able.

"Only it's not me going through it" he replies, taking another long drink. He thinks of those around him, only one person in the hospital knows the truth and she is sworn to secrecy. She is the one to whom he had spoken, and sought counsel with though he is now reluctant to do so; to burden her even more.

"I'm not sure I understand" is the response he receives from the woman who is desperately trying to figure out a meaning behind his words but finds herself unable. She sees what has been presented to her in the hospital; the gossip that passes between wards in a Chinese whisper style contorting slightly with each retelling but for the most part retaining the original message. She doesn't think there is anything below the surface, for there has been no hint of it – but she thinks now that perhaps she should know better.

"It's my fault" he tells her and he feels some of the bitterness drain away from him as he thinks over the last few weeks, "perhaps not her illness, but the breakdown of my marriage. Everyone sees that she is to blame but it was me. I lied to her and forced her in to something she wasn't ready for and even now when the world blames her, I fail to stand up for him" he tries to force back the tears that have fought their way in to his eyes. He has been trying for so long to control his emotions in public, and he doesn't want to stop now. He watches as realisation dawns in her eyes.

"Oh" it's all she manages to get out. She thinks of the woman she has stared after when they have come in to contact, how people have made low comments in her presence – just loud enough for her to feel the sting of the words – and how she had engaged within the gossip. She thought of the woman who had put up with it, trying to hold her head high though it bowed slightly without fighting against the words; how quietly she bore the weight of it, how she must have been doing it for the girl and in a smaller way the boy.

"So it's not me who deserves your apology" he informs her, and she nods again as she thinks of how the woman must feel. She has been on the receiving end of the whispers, the subject of gossip and the object of stares so she knows how it feels and yet she still engages in the behaviour herself though perhaps to a lesser extent – she hopes that she does at least.

"Maybe" she says and she gives him another small smile. A smile in which he reads understanding and something he thinks may be acceptance of his flaws. People see him as this teddy bear full of fluff and gold; a man of goodness and light. They do not see the flaws that exist when the surface is scratched. But she does and it does not seem to colour her opinion of him. "No one's perfect, and we all make mistakes for the ones we love" she adds quietly. She takes a drink before placing her now empty glass down on the bar and takes hold of his free hand squeezing it gently. He looks down at it, and he smiles for a moment before he looks in to her eyes.

"You never answered my question" he says and she blinks in confusion, "why did you chose here?" he clarifies and he watches as with her free hands she summons the barman, needing another drink before she starts to talk.


End file.
